


The Youth Blossom

by aretia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretia/pseuds/aretia
Summary: When Honerva is ill, Zarkon takes her on one last trip to her favorite garden.





	The Youth Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Haggar week day 3: Altea/Daibazaal and day 4: Memory/Devotion

After Honerva collapsed, her condition quickly deteriorated, and no treatments had any effect on her. The doctors said that there wasn’t much time before she would become completely bedridden, and not long after that, she would die. Zarkon couldn’t allow it. He had to find a way to keep his wife alive. Until then, he did his best to ease her suffering. 

He remembered a place that Honerva often reminisced about, the Aislin Gardens on Altea. Honerva had said that it was her favorite place to visit when she was a child. She had brought Zarkon there on a date, towards the end of their courtship, shortly before Zarkon proposed to her. It would be just the thing to help Honerva get through this ordeal. 

The only problem was that Zarkon couldn’t exactly take a pleasure trip to Altea. His feud with King Alfor over the rift on Daibazaal was so publicized that he would be hounded by reporters from the instant he set foot on the planet, and likely be tied up in bureaucracy for a movement. 

So he took other measures. He left one of his trusted commanders in charge of his duties, rented the entire garden for the day so that no tourists would spot them, and chartered a stealth fighter to fly them directly to the nature preserve. Honerva slept through the flight, as Zarkon had hoped, since he wanted to surprise her. When they arrived on Altea, the morning sun was rising, casting the landscape in a soft glow. Zarkon pushed Honerva’s wheelchair through the gates of the garden, then came to a stop.

Zarkon placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Wake up, darling.”

Her eyes fluttered open, glancing around as if dazed by the rays of sunlight. At first, she might have thought she was dreaming. Her eyes widened as the vibrant colors of the flowers came into view. “Zarkon?” she murmured. “Is this…?” 

“I thought it might lift your spirits,” Zarkon said.

Honerva was speechless. She reached up and cupped her hand behind Zarkon’s head, pulling him close to kiss him. When she let go, she was smiling the most radiant smile of anyone in the universe. That smile had become increasingly rare, as she had grown more serious about her work and then fallen ill because of it. But when it did appear, it was only for Zarkon, and it always made his chest ache. 

“Shall we?” Zarkon asked. Honerva nodded, and he started strolling down the path, guiding her along in the wheelchair. 

She stretched out her arms, basking in the Altean sunshine. She wasn’t suited to the cold climate on Daibazaal, and while Zarkon kept their palace and her laboratory heated to a comfortable temperature for her, it didn’t compare to the genuine warmth of Altea’s proximity to the sun. The heat seemed to ease the ache in her joints, and she moved animatedly, pointing at the various flowers. 

“I haven’t been here in decaphoebs. Look at how far Altean horticulture has come in hybridizing these plants for their beauty and resilience. I have never seen such a brilliant purple.” Her graceful fingers wrapped around the stem of a round purple flower and brought it close to her nose. “And what a lovely scent!”

She rambled on about the plants with that stunning smile on her face, filled with as much wonder as the first time she had seen the rift, when Zarkon had first met her. Zarkon admired her as she talked. She was as perfect as the day he met her. No illness could change that. 

They wandered around the garden for several vargas. Honerva’s attention was drawn to a tree on a hill in the center of the garden. The tree’s weeping branches were covered in pink flowers. “Is that the youth blossom tree? Its flowers only bloom for one quintant in a decaphoeb.”

“Yes,” Zarkon said. “I remembered they were your favorite, so I planned this trip for today so that we wouldn’t miss them.” 

Honerva took one of Zarkon’s hands in both of hers and pressed it to her cheek. “You think of everything, Zarkon.” 

They made their way over to a swing bench hanging from the branches of the tree. Zarkon lifted Honerva out of the wheelchair and sat her down in his lap, cuddling her close to his chest. He reached out and plucked a flower from one of the dangling branches, and placed it behind Honerva’s ear, tucking back a strand of her long white hair. 

Honerva giggled. Oh, if there was anything in the universe that could disarm Zarkon faster than Honerva’s smile, it was her laugh. She picked a few flowers from the branch and began weaving them together. Zarkon watched the deft movement of her fingers, slitting the stem of one flower with her nails and slipping the next stem through the hole. In a few doboshes she had produced a wreath of pink flowers. She placed it atop the ridges on Zarkon’s head. “A crown fit for my Emperor,” Honerva declared.

Zarkon chuffed a deep laugh in response. “With flowers as beautiful as my Empress,” he said. He pressed his forehead against hers, rubbing their noses together. Then, he leaned back into the bench and put his feet on the ground, pushing off against the sand to rock the swing, while he gently rubbed Honerva’s shoulder.

Honerva let out a faint, almost inaudible sigh, and her fingers clutched at Zarkon’s cape. When he glanced down at her face, she wasn’t smiling. Her lips were pinched together in pain. “Honerva? How are you feeling?” Zarkon asked cautiously. 

“I’m fine. Just a little sleepy,” Honerva murmured, nuzzling her head against Zarkon’s shoulder. 

Zarkon placed his hand on her cheek. He was alarmed by the heat of her skin, which was even warmer than the usual Altean body temperature. She enjoyed the hot weather, but it seemed to have given her a fever. 

Her doctors had warned him about making this trip, and told him to bring her back immediately if her condition worsened. Zarkon had taken a foolish risk. There was only one thing that could make him regret doing anything that made Honerva happy, and that was if he ended up hurting her in the process. 

“I think we should go home,” he said.

“But I want to stay a little longer,” Honerva pleaded.

“You mustn’t over-exert yourself,” Zarkon insisted. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He lifted her up and placed her delicate body back in the wheelchair. “Rest now, my love. We will return again when you are well.” 

Honerva leaned her head back against the cushion and dozed off. 

She _would_ get well. Zarkon would do everything in his power to make sure of that.


End file.
